Cast a Road Before Me (30 page)

He almost laughed.
“Me
, stubborn? You’re one of the most stubborn people I ever met! You think your Aunt Eva sets herself in one narrow mind, or my mama, or Al Bledger, or even Blair Riddum.
Look
at yourself! Oh, sure, you’re much quieter ‘bout it. But you’re like a bulldog, the way you won’t let go.” He spread his hands. “Has nothin’ that’s happened sunk into your head, Jessie? Cain’t you see the real
you
, after you lit into Al Bledger like you did?”

My cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was hardly ‘the real me,’ and you know it. As if you have room to point fingers. If you have nothing more intelligent than that to say, Lee Harding, I think it’s time you went on to church and let me be.”

He flinched as I flung the barbed words at him. I expected his brow to darken, his anger to rise, but neither happened. For a moment we faced off in silence, breathing deeply in the hot August air. Then his expression crumbled to sadness. He reached out a finger and grazed my cheek. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Jessie. I only wondered if maybe you saw things in yourself—old hurts and weaknesses—that you didn’t realize were there. Because I sure saw those things in myself.”

I couldn’t reply.

“Jessie, please. I love you. I want you to stay. And I just … want you to find what I’ve found.”

His tenderness broke through my anger. A lump began to form in my throat. “I love you too.”

“Then why do you have to go?”

“I
told
you why. I’ve been planning this for years; you know that. Planning to get back to my home.”

“This is your home.”

Tears filled my eyes. “No, it
isn’t
. It is
not
. Just because everybody
wants
it to be doesn’t make it so. Why does everybody think
they
know what’s best for me, what I should do with my life?”

“Forgive me,” Lee said, dripping hurt, “for thinking what’s best for you is to be with the person who loves you. Who wants to take care a you. Who’s willing, before God, to pledge you his
life.”

The tears flowed then. He wrapped his arms around me, his chin on my head. I couldn’t speak. I was crying for him, crying to my guardian angel mother, begging for her to
help
me. Ten minutes ago I’d been happy to leave; now again I was in misery. Why did it have to be so hard? If I was doing the right thing, where was the strength from her to help me through it? Where was the strength from God? All of heaven must surely have turned its back on me. Yet, even in Lee’s arms, I told myself it could not be so, that my hurt over him would pass once again as soon as I was on the road, headed toward my new life. God was simply testing me, that was all. He wanted to make sure I’d follow through, no matter what. I imagined my mother on the sidelines, praying for me to understand this, her wings shimmering as she awaited my response.

“I have to go now,” I said softly, pulling away. “And you do too. Church will be starting.”

“Come with me. Then you can leave.”

Irritation twinged up my spine. Why on
earth
was this church service so all-fired important? Seemed to me it was just one final ruse to get me to stay, as if hearing one more sermon would change my life. A part of me almost wanted to go with Lee and then drive defiantly out of Bradleyville as planned, just to shows folks I knew my own mind.

“No, Lee, I can’t.” My voice was firm. “I have a six-hour drive ahead of me, and I need to get going.”

Deep disappointment closed his eyes. Finally, he nodded, accepting it, but with an iron weight on his shoulders. When he
gathered the momentum to leave, it was with a parting shot over his shoulder. “I won’t give up on you. You’ll have to deal with me all over again at Thanksgiving.”

Plans or not, at that moment, I longed for it to be true.

H
ow I came to be in the church service happened so simply that, even looking back on it, the sequence is hard to fathom. I remember driving down our street, turning right on Main, headed toward Route 622. The same dark, desperate route I’d run two nights ago. The streets again were empty. I glided through the first light and passed the post office on my right. Then I heard the singing through my open windows, even from two blocks away. Without thinking, I slowed to listen. “Amazing Grace.” It had been one of my favorite hymns since coming to Bradleyville. Something about the tune on that particular muggy August morning tugged at my heart. Before I even realized it, I’d turned left.

I rolled past the gymnasium, wondering what I was doing. The parking lot was full. Cars lined both sides of the street.

I found an empty spot one block down.

The hymn was over by the time I slipped through the open double doors. The gymnasium was standing-room-only, and I did my best to blend in with the knots of folks without seats near the back. I exchanged nods with Mr. Tull and the Clangerlees, feeling self-conscious. Pastor Frasier announced another hymn. “To God
Be the Glory.” As the voices rose, an unearthly, joyous calm seemed to drift down from the ceiling. My eyes roved the beams overhead as I tried to place its source. Such a different aura from the last time the town had gathered—was it just four nights ago?

I spotted Lee and Miss Wilma near the front, next to my aunt and uncle. They must have saved Lee’s seat for him. Briefly, I wondered if they’d saved one for me. Further down the row stood the Matthews, little Celia’s blond head bent over her baby brother’s. Thomas had a hand on her shoulder.

The hymn over, everyone sat with a squeaking of chairs and rustle of clothes. Faces tipped toward the stage expectantly as Pastor Frasier and Evan Burle, the Baptist minister, asked Martha Plott up the steps to speak. Curious whispers undulated through the crowd. No one seemed to have expected this invitation. Miss Martha’s grandniece helped the old woman up the steps, both hands firmly under her arm. Once on stage, Miss Martha accepted Evan Burle’s help to the podium. Pastor Frasier had to lower the mike all the way to reach the frail, white-haired woman. He and Pastor Burle then sat in chairs toward the back of the stage. Awkwardly, Miss Martha rested a thin veined hand on the wooden podium, a tissue clutched in her fingers.

“Ain’t used to speakin’ before such a grand assembly,” she began, reacting at the reverberation of her own voice. “But I got somethin’ real special to tell ya. First though, I’d like to pray for us all.”

Not in all my life had I heard a prayer like what Martha Plott prayed that day. In her aged, tremulous voice she prayed for the mercy of Jehovah—the ever-gracious God of the straying Old Testament Israelites. She prayed for the gentle wind of God, like the breeze that passed before the prophet Elijah, to fill that gymnasium. She asked in Jesus’ name that the forces of evil be held back and that the Holy Spirit would pour forth upon the congregation. She prayed that those who heard that small voice deep within them, calling them to the truth, would respond. And she prayed for the Great Physician’s touch on Jake Lewellyn, who could not be present.

Halfway through her prayer, I opened my eyes to watch her in awe. I’d known Miss Martha since coming to Bradleyville; she was a woman the whole town respected. But the power emanating from her bent frame that day was so tangible that it seemed to fill the room.

“Amen.” Her prayer done, she smiled at the congregation. “Bless y’all for comin’ here today. I know you’re here, like I am, to hear the Word a God and to search your own hearts now that our tragedy is behind us. Now I ‘magine you’re wonderin’ what a little thing like me’s doin’ up here. Well, I could say I have a right. I heared how my own name was bandied about in front a the Riddum’s house Friday night.” Soft laughter rippled through the room. “But that ain’t why I’m here. I’m here to tell ya ‘bout an afternoon in my house over seven years ago. That afternoon, God sent me a vision. Never had one before, and I ain’t had one since. And I almost didn’t pay heed to it then, thinkin’ I was just bein’ a crazy ol’ woman. But God in his mercy sent that vision
three times
, just to make sure he’d got my attention. Right away, then, he also impressed upon me who I should tell. So I called Pastor Frasier and his wife Esther, and Virginia Crofts, my dear friend who goes to the Baptist church. And the four a us been prayin’ over that vision ever since then, never missed a week.”

Not a sound could be heard from those listening, even with all the children in that gymnasium. I was as taken with her story as the rest. Of all people,
I
could understand the life-changing effect of a vision. I thought of my mother appearing to me in my dream, the shimmering hope that she had bestowed upon me. Oh, yes, this I could understand.

“Now here’s what I saw in the vision, three times, sure as God lives. I saw the sky, black with night, stretched over a mob a ragin’ men. They was yellin’ and wavin’ clubs. Somebody had a torch, like he’s ‘bout to light somethin’ on fire. And there was other men pointin’ guns at ‘em, ready to shoot. There was a buildin’ a some kind, with white pillars. Just outside that buildin’ a man lay on the ground, lookin’ for all the world like he was dead.”

Folks’ jaws were loosening. My nerves began to hum. I don’t think one of us listeners dared breathe.

“And there was one more thing.” Miss Martha nodded, remembering. “In that entire vision, only one face was clear. And I see ya here this mornin’, dear soul. Forgive me for sayin’ your name out loud to these good folk. I don’t mean to embarrass ya. But this is what the Lord would have me do, to show everyone here his power and glory.”

Lee
, I thought. She saw Lee leading the men.

“Right smack into the middle a those violent men I saw a small figure runnin’ with all her might. And that was sweet young Jessie Callum.”

My knees nearly buckled. Surprise buzzed through the gymnasium, heads turning, seeking a glimpse of me. Lee and Miss Wilma and my aunt and uncle twisted around in their seats, their joy at my unexpected presence evident in their frantic searching. Aunt Eva caught sight of me first and pointed. Lee’s eyes locked with mine. My heart hammered. I would have fled out the doors had my feet not been bolted to the floor.

“Listen to me, dear folks.” Miss Martha waited for everyone to settle. “God, in his mercy, sent that vision so that, for over seven years, I and the three others he called specifically for his purpose, could pray. We prayed for every person in that vision—all those faceless folk we knew were from Bradleyville. God chose not to reveal the time or occasion or place a this ordeal. We could not even guess the details until the mill problems came up, and then God told me the time was near. Two nights ago, when many a you men were gatherin’, Pastor Frasier got word of it, and the four a us got outta bed to pray. We met in my livin’ room, pleadin’ for protection and mercy over our men in Jesus’ name. We prayed that whoever was on the ground in that vision would be spared. And we prayed that God would show us as a town all he needed to show us through this tragedy. Although we didn’t know it at the time, God led Frank Bellingham to go and pray in the midst of
the ruckus. And I know some a you wives was prayin’ too. God answered our prayers. He’s brought us here today, safe and sound, with Jake Lewellyn on the mend. Everyone goes back to work tomorrow.
With
a raise. Sometimes God’s blessin’s just overflow. I have no doubt that without God’s foretellin’ and without seven years’ worth a prayin’ the destruction two nights ago would a been a terrible sight to behold. God held back the forces a evil, folks, for this reason—
to show us all that he is Lord
. This town’s been headed down the wrong road for some time now. It was a mighty dark and scary one too. I know, ‘cause I was once on a road like that. Well, the Lord’s got a right road for each a us. He’ll cast that road before you, into glories you never could have imagined, endin’ some day in heaven itself. Some sixty years ago, he set me on mine. And I believe every day he goes down that road ahead a me and blesses it.”

Miss Martha spoke for another ten minutes or so, calling folks to turn their lives “100 percent” over to Christ. “Don’t think settin’ in church or bein’ good’s all ya need to do,” she pleaded. “That’s what we all been doin’ for years now, and look where it got us. You and me, we’ll never be good enough to reach heaven without the redemption a Christ.”

Never good enough
. For the first time, those words, coming in such context and from the lips of a woman like Martha Plott, held no chill for me. I wondered at that.

When Miss Martha finished talking, quiet weeping dotted the rows of worshipers. No one was looking at me anymore; peoples’ thoughts had turned inward. The air in that hot gym hung heavy with a serene anticipation I’d never experienced. It frightened me in a vague, undefined way, as though something precious were about to be taken from me. I needed to get away from it, get out of the building. I started to turn toward the door, but my eye was caught by a familiar figure moving up the stage steps.
Thomas
. I halted, half afraid of what he would say. Surely he wouldn’t confess to this crowd that he’d lied.

He nodded to the two ministers, who resumed their seats after helping Miss Martha into the hands of her grandniece by the stairs, and adjusted the microphone. “I won’t be long, folks,” he said almost apologetically. “I wasn’t supposed to be up here at all. But I just got to tell ya, I agree with everything Martha said. Hearin’ her story puts me to shame. ‘Cause while she was prayin’ for the Lord’s intervention, I was runnin’ ‘round tryin’ to fix things myself.”

No, Thomas
, I thought, holding my breath.

“Y’all know me. You know I’m a proud man. Struggled with pride all my life and probably ain’t got it licked yet. My daddy always put Jesus first in his life, not his own self, so I should know better. But just seems over the years I forgot the decision I made as a boy—to let Jesus lead my life. Not that I didn’t believe in the Lord, far from it. It’s just that, goin’ down the road, like Martha was talkin’ ‘bout, I was the driver. God was somewhere in the backseat. Well, by the grace a God we got through Friday night anyway. Not ‘cause a anything I did, but because God pushed me outta the driver’s seat and into the trunk.”